DAMIEN HAD BEEN BUSY. As we returned to our table, a waitress appeared with a new round of drinks and a huge platter of chips, complete with half a dozen dipping sauces. The humble potato had become the cornerstone of civilization ever since it was stolen from the Incas. I was more than happy to share in what appeared to be Damien’s breakfast.
“We’ve got company,” he declared from a mouthful of French fries.
I followed his gaze to see a group of Horsemen lounging at a corner table. Never to be mistaken for introverts, they kept up a merry chorus of chit chat and laughter as their eyes moved around the room, pausing whenever they looked in our direction or towards the robed congregation. Our friends in the robes – never to be mistaken for people having a good time – hadn’t moved or said a
